Outsiders' Academy
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: For every pair of star-cross'd lovers, there exists a bitter soul left to deal with the pains of a broken heart. Their only resource, a school established for the rehabilitation of the disappointed in love. These are their stories. Multi-genre Crossover running the gamut from LotR to Phantom of the Opera, from Jane Austen to Greek mythology [ON HIATUS]
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to any of the copyrighted material here represented.**

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

_Every Valentine's Day finds them coming. Score upon score of star-cross'd lovers, their hands clasped tightly together. They come, and we teach them the social graces, how to stay steady under pressure, how to plan the perfect anniversary surprise. We instruct them in the writing of sonnets, in the intricate language of lingering glances, in the art of wearing blinders – metaphorically speaking. Our school is renowned throughout the known universe and far, far beyond. Tuition is not cheap, but we are far better than any relationship counselor ever hired. Our motto: True love conquers all. The unspoken addendum – but only with our help._

_Harlequin's Finishing School for Soulmates – yes, that was the name. They paid me several hundred thousand a year to teach there, assuming incorrectly that my daughter's happily-ever-after was entirely due to my own efforts. Informing them of this oversight would have been a waste of time, for the Board of Governors were never sticklers for accuracy. For over fifty years, I taught there, doing my best to impart wisdom. At last, however, I had my fill of excessive public displays of affection and sickeningly saccharine exchanges. I tendered my resignation and transferred schools to a place where I can be more useful – and less nauseous._

_I have held my new position for three years, and it has been a breath of endearment-free fresh air. This winter's class promises to be both large and quite the handful. I relish the idea of a challenge. Our founder has also requested that we rename the academy. Now that is a task I rather dread. We always have _such_ trouble naming things. It is hard to phrase what it is we do here, to remain sensitive and never insult our prospective students. For here, our focus is not the strengthening and honing of a pair of "true loves". Rather, we must reforge anew those who have unfortunately been broken by their exclusion from such a pair. Those for whom hope is meaningless and love only a deep, piercing wound. Somehow, we must rehabilitate these unhappy, bitter souls. It does not do to dwell in regretful mourning for the rest of one's life, as I came to learn millennia ago through personal – _

"Mr. Elrond!"

The too-cheerful clarion call of his latest secretary interrupted Elrond's musing. Startled, he dropped his pen onto the page of his new journal, half-covered in immaculate tengwar. The pen nib hit the page near the end of his last sentence, leaving a very unseemly smudge, indeed. Elrond frowned at the insolent black blot. He hated messes.

"Mr. Elrond!" the secretary called again, this time knocking loudly on his office door. She knew enough not to enter without an invitation but unfortunately would not leave until he let her in.

Sighing, Elrond shut the journal bound in caramel calfskin. He set it in the private top drawer of his gargantuan mahogany desk and locked the drawer. With one last regretful glance at the peace of his office's smoky gray walls and plush dusky blue carpet – a peace that had been rudely destroyed – he announced, "Come in."

The door opened, and a vision of loveliness entered. Five feet, two inches of porcelain white skin, a pink skirted business suit, red lips that formed a perfect Cupid's bow, sparkling blue eyes, and an expertly coiffed head of thick, shining blond hair. Five feet, five inches, Elrond corrected himself, noting the black stilettos that sank deep into his favorite carpet. He winced with every step she took.

"Good morning, Galinda. What can I do for you?"

She wobbled over to his desk and collapsed onto the single wooden chair set opposite him, a six-inch stack of manila folders clasped to her chest. "It's Glinda, sir. And I wanted to say thank you again for hiring me. It's been difficult finding a job, what with the economy – and you know how fickle public opinion can be."

Elrond raised a single thin eyebrow. _Is that all?_ the eyebrow asked archly. Or perhaps the question was really: _Are you not an embodiment of fickle public opinion yourself?_ Glinda wasn't sure, and she flushed hotly.

"Anyway," she went on, trying to recover her professional secretarial manner, "the students will be arriving at ten, which is in about an hour. I thought we should go through their dossiers, discuss potential problems, assign roommates . . . things like that. Who your roommate is can change a lot," she added thoughtfully.

"Very well. Shall we look through those folders, then?"

Glinda brightened and pushed her black horn rim glasses further up her pert nose. Elrond had yet to discern if she wore them out of necessity or for affectation. "I was actually hoping we could use the new projector."

Her boss stifled a groan. He hated having to deal with too much newfangled technology. Luckily, Glinda was adept at setting up the projector all by herself. She scurried over to the opposite wall, pulled down the projector screen, and turned off the lights. Somehow finding the projector remote in the organized clutter that was Elrond's desk, she turned it on, then commandeered the computer. "Shall we begin by admissions date, age, or alphabetically by last name?"

"Last name will do, thank you." Her perfume was just a little too strong, and Elrond sneezed.

Correctly guessing the reason for his sneeze, Glinda scooted closer to the computer. "Sorry, boss." She frowned at the screen. "Some of our students don't have last names, sir."

Elrond sighed. "Just do your best, Miss . . ." He trailed off, realizing that she didn't have a last name, either. "The first student, please."

"Yes, sir." Glinda typed frantically for a moment. "Slideshow's on." AS the secretary tapped the projector remote, the screen showed the name of each student along with their picture and a few other key details.

First up was a young woman in her early twenties. She looked pleasant enough, with long brown hair and intelligent eyes of nearly the same color, but she could not be described as pretty. Her dress was most unfashionable and very out of date. Glinda opened her mouth to say something, then shut it quickly.

**Name: ** Mary Bennett

**Age: ** Twenty

**Hometown: **Longbourne, Hertfordshire, England

**Occupation: **Improving myself

**Hobbies:** Practicing the Pianoforte, Needlework, Studying Sermons, and Doing Good Works.

**Reason for Applying:** Mr. Collins

After studying the slide for a moment, his eyes lingering on Mary's face, Elrond gestured for her to move forward. "Next."

A teenage boy with brown skin and very short black hair.

**Name:** Jacob Black

**Age: **Seventeen

**Hometown: **La Push Reservation, Washington, USA

**Occupation: **Fixing Cars & Hunting Down Bloodsuckers

**Hobbies: **See above

**Reason for Applying: **Bella Swan

Elrond studied Jacob Black critically. "Bit young to be bitter. Next."

A handsome peroxide blond with pale blue eyes and a scar slicing across one eyebrow.

**Name:** William the Bloody, alias Spike

**Age: **None of yer soddin' business

**Home: **England

**Occupation: **Vampire

**Hobbies:** Drinking Blood & Beer, Kitten Poker, Motorcycles, Passions, Shaggin' Slayers

**Reason for Applying: **Buffy Summers

This one was rewarded with a distasteful grimace. "Next, please."

A familiar face this time. Elrond smiled, albeit with traces of sadness. "I wondered when you would show up."

**Name: **Gimli son of Gloin

**Age: **Older than the Fourth Age

**Hometown: **The Lonely Mountain, Erebor, Rhovanion, Middle-earth

**Occupation: **Stonemason/Metal Smith/Jewel Smith

**Hobbies: **Taking Care of my Beard, Exploring the Glittering Caves, Killing Orcs

**Reason for Applying: **Galadriel, Lady of Light

"I should never have let my mother-in-law talk the Valar into letting Gimli come to Valinor. Never. It was no favor to him."

Glinda wisely let this pass, instead moving on to the next student. "Hmm." This one was very attractive, a well-built man with glossy dark hair and a crisp linen dress shirt. Why, oh why was he wearing an ivory colored mask on the right side of his face, then?

**Name: **Erik, aliases: The Phantom of the Opera, Angel of Music, The Opera Ghost

**Age: **Thirty-nine

**Hometown: ** Subterranean lake, Palais Garrier, Place de l'Opera, 9th arrondisement, Paris, France

**Occupation: **Composer, Architect, Musician

**Hobbies:** Stalking Promising Young Talent in the Opera House, Murder

**Reason for Applying: **Christine Daaé

"Not quite your type, I think. Next."

Another brunette woman. This one had a hard face, although she was definitely good-looking. Her dark brown eyes were hard, too, as if shutters were closed fast behind them.

**Name: **Faith Lehane

**Age: **Twenty-three . . . I think?

**Hometown: **Boston, Massachusetts, USA

**Occupation: **Vampire Slayer

**Hobbies: **Dancing, Slaying, Smoking, Beer, One-night Stands, Spending 8 Months in a Frickin' Coma

**Reason for Applying: **Angel

"I bet she's got a sad story."

"Sad and tawdry. Let us move on."

A nearly transparent girl with thick glasses and an expression of utmost misery.

"We do ghosts?" Glinda blurted, unable to censor herself.

"Shh. I'm reading."

**Name: **Moaning Myrtle

**Age: **Fourteen

**Hometown: **The U-Bend, Third Toilet from the Door, 2nd Floor Girls' Loo, Hogwarts, England

**Occupation:** Ghost

**Hobbies: **Haunting Olive Hornby, Peeking in on Boys in the Prefects' Bathroom, Exploring the Lake, Being Teased, Crying

**Reason for Applying:** Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy (I really have to pick one?)

Elrond looked at the screen for a long moment. "It is a terrible thing when children die young."

His secretary had honestly never been much of a kid person. "Uh huh," she replied noncommittally, clicking forward to the next student. "Oooh."

A handsome, upright man in a dark blue naval uniform. His hazel eyes stared out from the screen straight at her.

"Oh," Glinda repeated in a very small voice.

"Please remember that you are not allowed to date the students."

Blushing furiously, she hit the remote buttons several times, accidentally turning the projector off. Elrond kindly refrained from commenting as she struggled to get the machine working again.

"Right. Okay. And our wonder student is . . . "

**Name:** James Norrington

**Age:** Thirty-two

**Hometown: **Wherever His Majesty sends me

**Occupation: **Commodore in His Most Royal British Majesty's Navy

**Hobbies:** Fencing, Swimming, Capturing Pirates

**Reason for Applying:** Elizabeth Swann

"Next, please."

This one was not as attractive as the Commodore. The man was sallow and skinny with long, stringy black hair, a large, hooked nose, and black eyes with no light in them. Glinda almost shuddered.

**Name: **Severus Snape

**Age:** Thirty-seven

**Hometown:** Hogwarts

**Occupation: **Potions Master

**Hobbies:** Inventing Curses, Brooding, Punishing Griffindor Miscreants

**Reason for Applying: **Lily Evans

"And the last one."

**Name: **Tinkerbell

**Age:** Ageless

**Hometown: ** Neverland

**Occupation: **Fairy

**Hobbies: **Helping Peter, Flying

**Reason for Applying: **Peter Pan

"Ten in all. And what a bunch . . . Tell me, Glinda, where shall we put them? What potential problems do you foresee?"

Turning off the projector very carefully, Glinda flipped the light switch. "No one's gay, this time. That makes room assignments less complicated."

"Who was gay last time?" her boss demanded.

"Never you mind," she muttered under her breath, then continued in a much louder, cheerier voice. "What problems are you expecting, sir?"

"Trouble with a few of the behavioral rules, as usual. There will probably be smoking on the grounds, breaking curfew . . . Inform Tim not to let the large dogs out tonight, if you would."

Glinda did shudder this time, for Tim the ostler gave her the creeps. He had pale, floppy hair – hair like mouldy hay, it was – and eyes that were more than half mad. But at least he did well with the horses. "Okay, Mr. Elrond. What else?"

"Do you have time to get nameplates on the doors?"

The look she shot him would have withered a small tree or curdled milk that was still inside the cow. "Please don't insult my competency, sir."

Elrond nodded, choking back a half-nervous chuckle. It had been ages since someone had scorched him with such a stare. "I apologize."

"Accepted. Nameplates?"

"I have an idea for the rooming assignments."

Whipping out a tiny pink notepad and matching rhinestone-encrusted pen, his secretary nodded. "Ready, sir."

"One moment." Elrond fished through the folders on the desk, taking one last look at his new students' faces. "All right. Let us try Faith Lehane with Mary Bennett and Moaning Myrtle – what a name! – with Miss, er, Tinkerbell."

"The ghost and the fairy? Isn't that some kind of discrimination?"

"Miss Lehane would torment Myrtle and get in a fight with Tinkerbell. She may dislike Miss Bennett, and I fear Miss Bennett may not like her, but – "

"But Mary Bennett would be even more uncomfortable with a supernatural roommate," Glinda finished for him blithely, unaware that she'd interrupted.

Lips pursed, Elrond continued, "Indeed. That settles the female students. As for the males, well, six is slightly more complex to match than four. I think Jacob Black with . . . no, no, that won't do. Nor that . . . Jacob Black with Gimli. Gimli may be the most stable and least likely to scar an impressionable teenager."

Glinda carefully refrained from commenting this time, although she really detested long beards.

"Yes. Jacob with Gimli, Severus Snape with James Norrington, William with the bloody awful nickname with Erik. I trust you can arrange that."

His secretary was already halfway across the room. "On it, boss."

Elrond watched her totter to the door and exit. Breathing a final sigh of relief, he reached for his journal and the offensive pen. After gazing unhappily at the ink smear, he picked up where he had left off.

_. . . millennia ago through personal experience. I mourned Celebrian for so long. She had not physically died, but she was gone beyond my reach. Even in Valinor, there was a part of her that was utterly lost to me. I lost my wife in the dens of the orcs of the Misty Mountains. Not even my sons could bring their mother back to me._

_On a less maudlin topic, that new secretary is working out well. She seems enthusiastic and fairly efficient thus far, albeit a little too peppy. As a general rule, our students are not fond of pep._

_I have high hopes for this year's class. Only a few cases of puppy love – the others all seem to have been deeply involved, emotionally. This makes for a longer healing process, but I have faith in the abilities of our excellent staff. Our class includes a werewolf, a dwarf, a vampire, a wizard, a madman, a ghost, a fairy, a Slayer, a spinster – twenty is too young to be a spinster. A prospective spinster, then? – and a naval officer. Thankfully, this is not our first foray into the paranormal._

_Alas, the clock runs forward. The students will be here in half an hour, and I must speak to the rest of the staff before they arrive. Hopefully Tim does not fall for Miss Lehane. Bess the landlord's daughter had black hair, not brown, but Miss Lehane's is nearly dark enough. Perhaps I could ask her to refrain from wearing red lipstick during her stay here? It strikes me that Glinda may be right. She has yet to mention the subject, yet I know she would like for me to fire Tim. He bothers her. If only Erestor were here! I could use his clear-headed opinion in situations like this._

_Glinda has texted me. I am needed downstairs. Already the crises begin. Oh, how I love the first day of term._

_Navaer an si,_

_Elrond Half-Elven, former Lord of Rivendell, currently Acting Headmaster of the School of Romantic Hard Knocks._

_Valar. We need a new name. Badly._

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><p><strong>AN: **I wasn't entirely sure which crossover category to put this story in, so I went with LotR/HP. If you can think of one that fits better, please let me know. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

AiH


	2. Venture

**Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with any of the fandoms here represented.**

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><p>Mary Bennett stared fixedly down at her hands as the carriage clattered and jostled over the uneven cobblestones. She focused on her pale, smooth skin, the slender fingers, the immaculately trimmed nails – the hands of a lady. Her stomach churned nervously, as full of twists and turns as a Bach invention. So far from Longbourne and yet not far enough.<p>

In the days leading up to her departure, she had wondered where this sudden good fortune had come from. When the letter arrived, it seemed an answer to prayer. To live even a day longer with her mother's pricking and prodding, forever under the shadow of her sisters' success was simply unbearable. Lydia had just borne her third child to that despicable villain Wickham, and Kitty had recently married a wealthy gentleman of the Pemberly set. Jane and Elizabeth were, as ever, blissfully happy with their rich, handsome husbands.

Mary tried not to begrudge her sisters their good fortune, but it hurt. For years, she had done her best to improve her mind, to develop her talents, to become wise and patient and be a truly good Christian. And in the end, it had gotten her nowhere. Her four sisters were all married, she a spinster. To make matters worse, the one man she had ever . . .

Unclasping her hands, Mary reached into her small floral reticule for a handkerchief. Just in case. Certain reflections tended to lead to undignified tears and a very red nose. That would not do, not today, but somehow she could not keep away from the path of well-trod thought.

Mr. Collins. The one man she had ever loved. How silly it must have been, her foolish, hopeless crush on a clergyman who was intent on proposing to Elizabeth. Of course, Lizzie had refused him. She was too stubborn and idealistic and proud to appreciate Mr. Collins' worth. Spurned, he offered his hand to Charlotte Lucas, Lizzie's best friend, instead. It made perfect sense. Charlotte had always been courteous to him, and, Mary admitted grudgingly, she was handsome in her own way. And of course Mr. Collins would never have looked again to any of the younger Bennett daughters after having been rejected by Elizabeth. It would have been intolerable.

Her love was doomed from the start, and Mary knew it well. But that did not make the pain any less bitter. Which was why she had accepted Mr. Grey's offer and was now on her way to his school, despite her fear of the unknown. Mary replaced her handkerchief and sank back against the barouche's upholstery. No tears this time. She could do this. She would go to this school, and the pain would go away, and maybe she might one day rid herself of the title of spinster.

Some of the tension leaving her body, Mary closed her eyes and gradually fell asleep. She woke an hour later when the carriage left the bumpy cobblestones for an even bumpier dirt road through the woods. Clutching the sides of the carriage, Mary braced herself for the duration of the hellish fifteen-minute ride. Suddenly the ground beneath her became smooth again. Mary peered out the window to see an imposing, gray slate building looming up ahead of them. Neither a mansion nor a castle, but something in between, it was surrounded by a lawn of emerald green grass. Crisp, lacy white curtains fluttered at the score or more of large windows.

"Oh . . ." Mary breathed, heart pounding, head reeling. This was actually happening. She patted her hair with nervous, trembling fingers and straightened her dress. Inhale. Exhale. Courage. She would be brave and bold like Lizzie and not let anyone know she was shaking inside. Shoulders back, chin up, perfect posture. She was free. Free of her mother's sniping comments, her father's quiet disappointment, and her sisters' insufferable pity. Free to change, free to grow, free to improve, free to become. And finally, finally free to stop hurting.

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><p>Gimli son of Gloin had never been a fan of horses. For Legolas and Aragorn's sakes, he put up with the beasts. Frankly, however, now with Aragorn millennia dead and Legolas <em>finally<em> married, the dwarf could relax and properly enjoy the marvels of modern transportation. Trains and subways were quite decent, but airplanes were miraculous. As a young dwarf, Gimli had been captivated by his father's tale of being rescued by eagles. Ever since then, he had harbored a secret desire to fly. Now, with his blossoming diamond business in a college town infamous for eloping couples, he could afford to fly whenever he wanted to.

Admittedly, this was no pleasure trip. Legolas's new wife had pressured him into it, saying that a friend of hers had attended the school and come out very well, indeed. Since Elrond was in charge, the school would of course be excellent. Like all good wives, she was doing her best to improve her husband and his friends, convinced that her changes were for the better. Gimli didn't mind. Miriel made his old friend truly happy, and she meant well. Besides, Galadriel and Celeborn's anniversary was coming up next week, and the atmosphere of love and peace around them was sickening.

"More coffee, sir?"

The flight attendant's pleasant voice recalled him from his dismal thoughts. "Er, yes, please. Thank you.'

"And you, sir?" the stewardess glanced at the man seated next to Gimli, a tall, dark-haired fellow with a strange mask covering half of his face. You got all sorts flying Delta.

Looking up from a pile of yellowed paper covered in inky scribbles and music notes, the man frowned and shook his head.

"Afraid of a spill?" Gimli attempted to make conversation.

His neighbor's frown deepened. "I am trying to rewrite an opera, and the harmonies are all wrong. If you will excuse me . . .?"

Able to take a hint, Gimli turned away and began studying the passengers in the row across from them. There was the token middle-aged woman off to pay a visit to her adult children somewhere across the country, slightly overweight with a dye job that didn't quite reach her roots. To her right, by the window sat a sulking teenage boy: dark skin, dark eyes, dark scowl. Whenever the motherly woman attempted to make conversation, he growled at her and returned to his iPod. Not a very good seatmate, Gimli decided.

Speaking of seatmates . . . the masked man next to him had begun humming something sinister under his breath. This flight was quickly becoming most uncomfortable. Gimli checked his watch. Only thirty minutes until landing. Elrond's secretary had said that a car would be waiting at the airport to transport Gimli and a few other students to the school. Gimli was fine with that. After the strange people on this airplane, the other students were bound to be positively charming.

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><p>Tinkerbell zoomed around the clearing, her wings a translucent green blur. She flitted from tree to tree, never approaching the one beneath which the Lost Boys were settling down for sleep with Peter and the new Wendy.<p>

Wendy! Oh, how Tink hated that name. She hated all Wendy's, with their bedtime stories and thimbles and compulsive need to change things. They changed the routines, changed the way things were, changed Peter until he forgot who he was – until he forgot her.

Fuming, the tiny fairy landed on a rock, her hands clenched into tight fists. She had rebelled once, gone to Hook in a fit of sheer pique that backfired, and it had taken ages to regain Peter's trust, even after that Wendy left. And now here they were, five Wendy's down the line, and nothing had changed. Tink couldn't take this anymore.

She opened her wings and shot into the sky. The second star to the right could get you to Neverland, and it could take you back again. Tink did not remember the last time she had made this trip without Peter. She might come back, when Wendy left, when Peter noticed her absence and found her and begged her to return. Maybe.

Tink flipped around to stare at the tree one last time. "Goodbye," she whispered. Whirling away, she flew and flew and flew, until her chest pounded and her wings ached and she had run out of tears. But she never looked back.

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><p>"Easy, Caesar. Easy, boy."<p>

Commodore James Norrington slowed his chestnut gelding to a walk, confused by the thick grey mist obscuring the path before them. Caesar snorted nervously.

"Easy, boy," James repeated, stroking the hunter's neck in an effort to soothe him. What was the wording of that letter? He sat back in the saddle and took the neatly folded piece of paper wrapped tightly in oilskin from his coat pocket. There it was, about ten lines down.

_We are including a map. Stay on the path and press forward, regardless of what obstacles you meet. The journey should take no longer than two hours on horseback_.

James flipped the letter over to look at the map for what felt like the hundredth time. "All right," he sighed, tucking it away inside his blue naval jacket. He had worn the full Commodore uniform. James felt naked without the wig and hat, the perfectly polished black boots, and the deadly sword at his side.

"Go on, Caesar." Squeezing gently with his calves, the Commodore coaxed his hunter forwards into the mist. It felt cool and wet on his exposed hands and face. Caesar trembled slightly beneath him but kept moving. One hand grasping the reins, the other clutching the hilt of his sword, James remained wary and alert. With every step the gelding took, his rider counted silently in his head. _One, two, three, four . . ._

It was on fifteen that Caesar stepped off the path of loosely packed Caribbean sand onto something much firmer. James noticed at once. He calmed the uneasy horse. "Good boy. Good boy."

But Caesar refused to take another step. Resisting the urge to swear, James swung down from the saddle. The ground did feel strange. Hard, like cobblestones, but much smoother beneath his boots. A river of stone, perhaps? How bizarre. Step by step, he tugged and pleaded and led the horse onwards. _Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . . _

James was almost to fifty when the mist suddenly cleared. They had indeed been traveling on a river of stone. A wood of trees surrounded them. He recognized their shapes from his childhood in England, and the names soon followed: elm, oak, and beech.

"Yoohoo!" A woman in riotous shades of skintight pink clothing was standing on the stone river about ten feet ahead of him. "Mr. Norrington, is it?" She trotted over to him, baring entirely too much leg. It was rather indecent.

"Commodore Norrington," James replied frigidly.

Her smile fell slightly, but she hoisted it back into place with a valiant effort. "I beg your pardon, Commodore. If you and your steed will come with me, the school is just up here." The woman spun on her heel and began walking back up the path, her ridiculously tall, slender heels clicking on the road.

Realizing belatedly that he ought to have asked for her name, James followed after, a very perplexed Caesar bringing up the rear.

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><p>Severus Snape firmly believed that misery was an integral part of life. He had been miserable since he was a small child. Nothing had ever changed that. Nothing except Lily. She had been the one ray of warm sunlight in a cold, gloomy world – a ray that lasted only a few short years before being brutally extinguished. Indeed, Snape was well acquainted with misery. Over the last seventeen years, he had raised brooding to an art form. In the most rational, analytical part of his brain, the potions professor understood why Dumbledore had decided to finally take steps.<p>

_Dumbledore cares_, Severus reminded himself bitterly, tightening the last strap on his sleek black leather traveling case. _ He says I have been moping for too long – as if I could choose to change that._

Everything packed, Snape swept from his office, locking the door with a nonverbal spell. He moved quickly; Dumbledore would already be waiting near the gates with his traveling companion. Ducking down a side passage to avoid a gaggle of giggling Gryffindors, the professor pulled a face. Ghosts were fine, but Myrtle? If he was broody, sullen, and miserable, she was infinitely worse. At least he tried, was actively working towards atonement, even when he knew atonement was impossible. She just moped and whined. And over what? The insufferable Harry Potter who had taken to flirting with Cho Chang. Apparently Potter had visited her (Myrtle, not the Chang girl) in the second floor girls' loo for some strange reason a few years before, and now she fancied him. It was utterly ridiculous and slightly disturbing. What had the twelve-year-old Potter been doing in a girls' bathroom?

Turning his thoughts to more pleasant matters, Severus again wondered at Voldemort's acceptance of his explanation about being unavailable for a month. Professional education, Dumbledore's direct order, escorting a problematic ghost to receive emotional counseling . . . It all sounded very silly and Muggle-ish. The Dark Lord had laughed – and so had Bellatrix – but Lucius helped convince them. Unsurprising, really. Luscious was in favor at present and as for Narcissa . . . Snape smiled wryly. Narcissa had always suspected some misfortune of the heart concealed deep in his past. Let her speculate. Just so long as she never actually discovered the truth.

He had almost reached the gates now, and there was Dumbledore in a dark purple traveling cloak, the silvery outline of Moaning Myrtle flickering in the weak winter sunlight beside him. This was going to be a miserable few weeks, but as Severus Snape had known since the age of three, misery was life.

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><p>"What the h-ll are we doing?"<p>

Spike glanced over at his navigator. The rebellious Slayer had begun their journey with her feet on the dashboard, singing along loudly to whatever came on the radio. Now she sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, brown eyes dark and hooded as she stared out the heavily tinted windows – vampires and sunlight, they don't mix.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are we doing this, Spike? It won't change anything."

They had been down this road a hundred times before – ten times at least just that morning. The vampire sighed. "Because you love Angel, and I love Buffy, and they don't love us. Can't keep going back like a dog begging to be kicked." His words were for his own sake as much as hers.

"So they expect us to go and share all our problems? We don't need that – I don't need that." Faith's voice was defiant. She didn't need help. She could fix this. Her problem wasn't actually that bad. Sure, it sucked to fall for the best friend you'd ever had, the one person who had never given up on you or asked you to commit murder. Angel, the vampire with a soul. Fangs notwithstanding, Faith reckoned his soul was in far better condition than her own.

So yeah, her life sucked some days, but she saw Angel every other month or so when he dropped by to check in on her. No Buffy, of course. Things were still messy where B was concerned. Those nights with Angel were wonderful and awful all at once. Angel would come, and they would talk all night or go hunting in some old cemetery. The entire time she was with him, Faith's skin screamed for contact, for feeling, to touch him and know she was not alone. She needed to know that he was there for her, that they were still walking the long, hard path to redemption together. The toughest part was when he left. Angel always took off an hour before dawn, leaving her with a hug that drove all the pain away – until he stepped back and it came crashing down again. But it was cool. Faith could handle this. She was five by five.

"I'm fine," she said more loudly, sensing that Spike didn't buy it. "Let's just turn around and not go."

The thought was tempting. They could go back and pretend everything was fine – only that was total bull. Things were far from fine. There were good nights when they played video games or watched crap telly with a pack of cigarettes and a couple of beers, but those were a minority. More often, one of them would be hurting, bad, and the other would drag them out of the flat to get their minds off things. Three nights a week, they ended up in some shady club or bar, dancing up against a stranger or occasionally each other. Anything to feel, to be touched. If it wasn't the club, they prowled through the worst parts of the city, looking for a fight. Granted, they only ever tangled with vampires and demons – the bad guys – staying at least nominally on the side of good and right.

And every night, the nightmares. He would hear Faith sobbing through the wall or dream about Buffy dying, and they would end up in bed together. Not that they ever did anything – they each had rules about that – but he found the idea of sleeping alone unbearable, and Faith had yet to turf him out.

"We have to go," he replied at last. The words scratched his throat on their way out. The vampire reached for the silver flask sitting between them. A little bit of whisky would go a long way right now. "We can't keep doing this, Faith. You can't spend the rest of your life yearnin' for Cap'n Forehead."

"Shut up," Faith growled. "It isn't as if you don't wake me up calling for Buffy in your sleep."

The vampire smiled crookedly. "Right you have it, pet. Which is why it has to end."

The Slayer didn't answer, just reached over to the radio and turned the music up. The flat mates, usual allies, and occasional friends let the Stones lull them back into morose reflection as Spike sped along the highway, his speedometer pushing ninety.

_I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie _

_I have my freedom, but I don't have much time _

_Faith has been broken, tears must be cried _

_Let's do some living after love dies_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away _

_Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: My deepest apologies for taking so long to update. This semester is rather challenging, and for a while I haven't been able to do much besides schoolwork. However, I am back! I just thought I'd introduce our students a little more thoroughly before their arrival at school. As always, reviews are very much appreciated - constructive criticism most of all!<strong>

**Until next time,  
>AiH <strong>


	3. Official Notice

Author's Note: While this story is still on official hiatus, I have started writing again! I currently have another in-progress fic in the Buffyverse that I am trying to wrap up before I turn back to this one. I should be updating this by the end of summer. But until then, here is a list of future guest lecturers who will appear in the fic and their tentative subjects:

Treebeard - "How Writing Poetry is Unhelpful in Moving On"

Sherlock - "Signs it Never Would Have Worked"

Eponine - "Without You, His/Her World Will Go On Turning"

Mycroft - "Caring is *not* an Advantage" or, alternately, "Why Everyone Should Love Cake"

Hephaestus, Arthur, and Mark of Cornwall - "It Could Be Worse: The Woes of a Cuckolded Husband"

Gaston - "Narcissism Heals a Broken Heart"

Eowyn - "Another Love Will Come"

If you have any other suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Once again, I am so sorry for the ridiculously extended delay between the last chapter and the next.  
>AiH<p>

**Updated A/N (11/13/14):** This story is now on official permanent hiatus. Thanks very much to those of you who have taken the time to read, review, follow, and favorite Outsiders' Academy.


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